


Fate

by mooglecharm (morphaileffect)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Backstory, Drama, Feeble attempt at being canon compliant, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Kid Fic, Mentioned Lunafreya Nox Fleuret, Mentioned Noctis Lucis Caelum, Sylleblossoms (Final Fantasy XV), Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:33:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25892152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morphaileffect/pseuds/mooglecharm
Summary: Twelve-year-old Ravus Nox Fleuret meets a precocious little boy with a penchant for reading and for rescuing small things.
Relationships: Ravus Nox Fleuret & Ignis Scientia
Comments: 17
Kudos: 29





	1. Clever

**Author's Note:**

> Kid!fic, no romance. Presumes a certain chocobro was born in Tenebrae.

_The gods took  
The cleverest boy  
And put him to work  
  
_

***

Ravus decided that he liked this spot. There was a large, ancient tree that provided plenty of shade, and wild sylleblossoms everywhere.

Besides, it was far enough from his mother’s summer home, that he could rest here, and not be bothered by the petty demands and dealings of the adults in his family.

He was only twelve years old, but already mired in rules of court and political intrigue. He saw his mother, the Oracle, driven to exhaustion by politicking, on top of her daily healing duties, and driving away the Starscourge from Tenebrae’s borders.

He loved his mother. Saw himself as her protector. Didn’t like that she relied on political alliances to keep her kingdom safe, instead of strengthening their military. Wanted to be strong enough to be of use to her someday.

From time to time, he needed to be alone with the feelings he couldn’t express in his mother’s court.

He decided this spot was the best place for it.

So when a strange little boy approached, hugging a large book to his chest, Ravus met him with a glare.

“This is my spot,” he declared, as menacingly as his twelve-year-old voice could manage.

The little boy blinked. Looked around.

“I don’t see your name anywhere,” he pointed out.

His little lips formed words confidently, like they normally wouldn’t on children of his apparent age. He must just have been seven or eight.

And so small and thin, Ravus could have thrown him clear out of the forest with a light slap.

“Leave,” Ravus warned again.

“No.” The little boy laid the book he was carrying on the ground, by the roots of the tree, and continued addressing Ravus, like a calm adult: “You’re the one who’s new. I’ve been coming here for a long time. By Tenebrae’s property laws, I have right of claim.”

This kid had nerve.

Ravus wondered if he completely lacked any sense of self-preservation.

But the kid was also correct:

According to Tenebraean law, ownership over a piece of public land could be claimed by someone who had settled there first.

He was surprised the infant knew this.

The boy stood on tiptoe and reached into a hole in the tree that Ravus had not noticed was there.

To Ravus’ surprise, he pulled out a small leather bag from the hole. From the bag, he took out a notebook - cheap, insignificant-looking, and worn from use.

“See?” the kid said, holding up the notebook. “I have documentation.”

Ravus wasn’t sure the kid knew exactly what “documentation” was yet.

But he spoke with so much self-assurance, it was amusing.

Ravus grunted and waved his hand in the air. “Whatever,” he said dismissively. The child took this as his cue to settle down near his book. He opened the book and the notebook, took out a pen from the bag, and started taking notes.

Ravus was determined to ignore the boy. But the scratching of his pen broke the silence he so craved.

He could have driven the boy away. Or left. Found another spot.

Instead, he found himself looking over at the boy’s book, and at the notes the boy took. He took the time to marvel at the boy’s script. At his age, Ravus remembered struggling to make spirals and lines, growing frustrated and stabbing the paper with the pen in his hand.

But the child’s writing, despite the uneasy squiggliness, was legible.

He was practicing writing. As he took notes on the book he read.

“What is that you’re reading,” Ravus found himself asking.

The boy mumbled out the title. It was that of an almanac Ravus recognized from his mother’s library.

An eyebrow rose. “Isn’t that too advanced for you?”

The boy nonchalantly answered, “My mother says a book is only ‘too advanced’ if you don’t understand it.”

“And do you? Understand it?”

The boy eyed him sidelong, as if to sarcastically ask _What do you think?_

Ravus huffed. He didn’t expect to find that cheekiness amusing. It would normally annoy him.

And yet.

Ravus decided having the boy around was no hardship. The tree was huge. He could stay on one side, while the boy stayed on the other. And when the time came, he or the boy could just leave.

On his way home, he would bring back a bunch of wild sylleblossoms for his mother and sister.

***

Ravus had hoped the boy wouldn’t come the next day.

But he came.

And he brought another book with him.

As before, the boy took out his little leather satchel from the hole in the tree, brought out his notebook and pen, settled down with his new book, and started writing.

“What are you reading now?” Ravus asked him.

“A history of Lucian monarchs,” the boy answered.

“You were just reading something different yesterday.”

“Yes,” the boy answered. “I’ve finished it.”

 _Finished._ Overnight. An entire almanac.

Ravus snorted. The kid was probably bragging.

But what a curious thing to brag about. In Ravus' experience, boys barely out of toddler age would brag about how many games they’d won against their friends. Or the number of small animals they’d terrorized.

“What makes Lucian monarchs so interesting anyway,” Ravus lazily asked.

“Everything,” the boy simply answered. “I don’t know about them yet.”

Ravus decided then that teasing the boy a bit would be a worthwhile way to pass the time. He was so puny, it was as if he begged to be made fun of.

So he started asking the boy about the things he had learned so far, about the Lucian kings.

And it turned out - the boy actually knew quite a lot. Ravus didn’t even know how to begin teasing him. He was...genuinely impressed.

The day ended before either of them knew it. When the boy noticed that darkness was falling, he unceremoniously stood, stashed his satchel in the tree, picked up his new book, bowed with an almost comical formality in front of Ravus, and left.

***

On the third day, Ravus found the boy already there.

Climbing the ancient tree to get to a small wood cat that had gotten stuck in the higher branches.

“You can’t go much higher up,” Ravus warned him laughingly. “Your limbs are too small. You won’t be able to reach.”

But his light-hearted warnings were ignored, and Ravus actually started getting concerned.

“You can’t do it,” he declared. “Jump down before you fall.”

“I can’t,” the boy said. The fear in his voice was unmistakable, though he obviously tried to restrain it. “It’s too high.”

His little arms and legs were shaking. He was not athletic, and climbing up as high as he did must have taken so much out of him. Climbing down would probably be difficult at that point, and he would slip and fall anyway if he tried.

Besides, the boy was right: if he jumped straight to the ground, he would likely end up with a broken bone or two.

“Jump down, I’ll catch you.”

Ravus was aware he was tall for his age. If the boy jumped onto Ravus, he would likely escape getting badly injured.

The boy seemed to take his sweet time, clinging to his branch like a distressed cat, himself. Probably gathering strength.

In the end, he did jump.

Right into Ravus’ arms.

And despite how determined he was to remain steady, Ravus fell back from the force of the fall, lost his balance.

A sharp rock dug into his back, thankfully nowhere near his spine.

Ravus winced. The boy crawled off him and immediately asked “Are you hurt?”

Ravus said nothing. He could feel blood seeping into the back of his shirt, but it wasn’t his way to talk when he was in pain.

“Wait here,” the boy said. He ran off to the gods knew where.

Probably to get help, Ravus thought. And he should probably be gone before the kid came back.

There would be a fuss if people found the first son of House Fleuret wounded in the woods, even if his wounds weren’t serious. He wouldn’t hear the end of it from the royal guard. Or his mother.

And Luna would feel sad.

So Ravus made up his mind to get the damn cat out of the damn tree, and get the hell out of there, before any of that happened.

Getting all the way to where the noisy little cat was, was easy. He was long-limbed and coordinated. His combat tutors would be proud of how quickly he got up and back down.

The scratches he got on his face from picking up the cat were going to be a little hard to explain, however.

As Ravus got to the ground, cat in tow, he realized that his shirt and the back part of his trousers were already drenched in blood. The wound must have been aggravated by the exertions of climbing.

He was about to release the cat onto the forest floor, when the boy returned.

He had brought back...leaves. A whole bunch of different leaves, bundled up in his scrawny arms.

His face still flushed from running, still catching his breath, the boy laid out the leaves on the ground, sorted by kind.

Then he called Ravus over to him. He took the feral beast from Ravus’ arms; the cat allowed itself to be transferred without a fuss (oh _sure_ , it was a sweet little kitty now that it was closer to the ground).

The boy released the cat, then said he needed to take a look at Ravus’ wounds.

Ravus’ eyebrow rose again, as it often did with this kid. But he quickly decided that his wound wasn’t serious enough, and he could let the boy play doctor for a bit.

He appreciated that the kid didn’t seek out the help of adults, like maybe he should have done.

As the child attended to the wound on Ravus’ back, chewing up leaves and applying the masticated paste to the wound, Ravus realized the child occasionally sniffled. Was he crying?

He’d better not be getting snot onto the leaves he was chewing up.

“Sorry,” the kid said softly. “You got hurt because of me.”

And he sounded so small, so appropriately _young_ , that Ravus’ heart ached a bit.

“You need to have a sense of self-preservation,” he admonished. “You're still too little. Grow up soon, and you can save as many cats as you want.”

When the kid was done covering the wound in herbs, he kept the medicinal leaves in place by winding a strip of cloth from his jacket around Ravus’ torso.

(Ravus himself had had to tear out the strip, because the poor kid just didn’t have the arm strength.)

And Ravus was surprised to find that the herbs...actually helped. The pain was numbing. More than that, there was a soothing, cool feeling seeping into his skin.

The kid wasn’t just _playing_ doctor. He knew his stuff.

“Important to stop the bleeding,” the kid said, like a real doctor would. “You have to take this.”

He held up a bunch of unchewed leaves to Ravus’ face. The smell was strong, and Ravus flinched from it initially. But he eventually put it in his mouth.

He might as well trust the kid all the way.

“That’s for the blood loss,” the kid explained. “And this is for your face.”

His little hands reached up to apply a foul-smelling poultice to the scratches on Ravus’ face. It stung, and certainly didn’t feel like the same herbs used on his back.

“The scratches are shallow,” the boy pointed out. “We just have to make sure you didn’t get any toxins. Wood cats sometimes bring disease. These leaves are for that.”

“Where did you learn about all this?” Ravus said in genuine wonderment.

The boy scratched his head shyly. “My parents are scientists,” he said. “And...I already made a map of the medicinal herbs in this location. In my notebook. So I know where to find everything.”

Ravus stared at the strange, precocious child, unblinking.

The boy dropped his gaze.

“Told you I was here first,” he said softly.

Ravus asked to see the map that the boy had made. Almost eagerly, the boy drew down the notebook from the satchel in the hole, and flipped it open to the pages where he had drawn his maps.

They were, indeed, proper maps - as proper as a very small child could make them. The distancing was grossly off, but the herbs in that part of the meadow appeared to have been properly documented. The perceived location of each herb was meticulously labeled, in the child’s shaky hand.

With the boy’s permission, Ravus glanced at some of the other things written in the notebook. Most of it was scholastic drivel, probably copied word for word. But one thing stood out to Ravus:

The singular name written on the first page.

“’Stupeo,’” Ravus read aloud. “Is that your name?”

The boy hesitated, then nodded.

“How old are you, Stupeo?”

“Six,” the boy said. He reached over to close his notebook and take it back from Ravus.

Six. If he was telling the truth, he was much younger than Ravus had expected.

His little sister was even slightly older.

“My name is Nox,” Ravus said, as Stupeo stashed his notebook back in the satchel.

He wouldn’t use his real name. He knew that this intelligent child would recognize it and regard him differently.

And that was the last thing he wanted right now.

He wanted Stupeo to feel comfortable enough to jump into his arms when he was in a high place and in trouble.

To try and impress him with his freakishly extensive knowledge of herbs, Lucian kings, and other things.

Stupeo looked at him, and wordlessly held out his hand - a formal gesture of first meeting, as he must have seen adults do so many times before.

Ravus smiled as he took it.


	2. Frail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Concentrated angst herein. Be warned.
> 
> EDIT: 24 Aug, 2020: Fixed up two paragraphs I wasn't entirely happy with. I'm a bit happier with them now. This should be an easier read.

“You mean to tell me fate is a _good_ thing?”

They were lying side by side under the shade of their favorite tree.

Even if he never said it aloud, Ravus enjoyed this.

Before now, he had never had anyone to talk to about just anything.

(Well...not “anything.” They never talked about personal things. Ravus blithely dodged the inquisitive Stupeo’s prying questions easily enough: all he had to do was ask something about the most recent books the kid read. Stupeo would start on the new topic excitedly.)

Now he was spending most of his summer afternoons pouring out his thoughts to a precocious six-year-old.

And there was no one around to judge him for it.

“I’m not sure what ‘fate’ is yet,” Stupeo mused aloud. “But I think it’s good...that things have an order to them. That means there must be a way to know if something’s supposed to happen.”

“There is,” Ravus said without thinking. “The Oracle knows how. And you think the Oracle likes doing it?”

Stupeo side-eyed his older friend.

“How do _you_ know what the Oracle likes?” he challenged.

Ravus sputtered, “I-I don’t. Just speculating, is all.”

Stupeo seemed satisfied by this answer and didn’t pursue his question.

But Ravus had already brought up the Oracle, a matter dear to his heart; he just couldn’t let it go that easily.

“For the last 2,000 years,” he began, “Oracles have served as conduits of fate. They can’t refuse any vision of the future, any Calling they are given. Imagine it. What if your Calling leads you to do something bad? Or painful? Knowing that you or your loved ones are fated to suffer...would you want to wait around for that? Wouldn’t you want to fight - to resist?”

He was getting wound up. Stupeo must have realized it. He lay quiet, letting his friend talk, observing how the tone and volume of his voice grew harsher, how a shadow fell over his lean face.

“What makes it worse is, no one would fight beside you...because as far as everyone else is concerned, everything that happens to you is _meant_ to happen. You get the gifts of healing and prescience, wealth, a healthy bloodline, a nation to lead - but none of them can protect you from what’s coming. What’s the use of having any sort of power, then - whether given by the gods or by the laws of man? Everything you have as queen or king is meant to serve some grand plan. No one will come to your aid.”

Big questions, for such young ears. But Ravus was talking to himself, not to his companion. He didn’t really care if Stupeo understood - only that he was listening.

Stupeo rolled over on his stomach so he could see his friend eye to eye.

“If you were my king,” he pronounced, “I’d protect you.”

And then, despite himself, Ravus found himself smiling.

He reached out to pat the boy’s light brown hair. That would have to suffice as a sign of approval from him.

One day, when they were both old enough, he was going to recruit this child into the service of the royal family of Tenebrae. He would personally welcome the boy into his household. Ravus was already making plans for it.

But for now, he basked in this: a heartfelt declaration of loyalty, from a child who was too little to know about dishonesty or fate.

***

It was strange that Ravus would find peace in the company of a much younger child.

Stupeo was, for all intents and purposes, an inferior - not a buddy, and certainly not a peer.

Perhaps he reminded Ravus of his sister, whom he loved more than anything or anyone else.

But he wasn’t sure. Little Lunafreya was more thoughtful, more tentative. Had been ever since she was born. It was as if she was always listening to every voice speaking around her, weighing options in her head.

But not this boy. This boy’s eyes were just as clear, but the thoughts behind them were somehow not as difficult for Ravus to comprehend.

Plus, there was something about the child that seemed portentous - as if he and Ravus were destined to walk the same road.

Even if they wouldn't do it together.

Ravus didn't like thinking of the things that set him apart from the people he liked. But they occurred to him anyway.

That they would likely not be in his life for good - couldn't help but occur to him anyway.

***

_“Sometimes I forget things,”_ Stupeo admitted one day. _“Especially when I don’t think about them often. It’s like my brain is making room for new information. If there’s something I don’t want to forget, I write it in my notebook.”_

In Tenebrae, and probably in other places as well, there was a tradition between young lovers, of writing alternately in a single notebook - like having a shared diary.

Ravus always thought it was a stupid tradition. You could just _say_ things to the people you cared about. There was no need to make them wait.

But there were times when you couldn’t say them when you wanted to. He already knew that, yet he was unpleasantly reminded -

When one day, Ravus went to their meeting place, and Stupeo wasn’t there.

Stupeo was _always_ there. He was six years old. He had nothing better to do. Ravus was the one with the royal’s unforgiving schedule.

But there was no Stupeo there, that day.

His own dismay surprised Ravus. He had used to enjoy peace and quiet in that place, didn’t he? So having one day without the kid there was probably something he should relearn to appreciate.

He supposed the disappointment stemmed from the fact that he'd brought cake.

And not just any cake - it was his and his sister Luna’s favorite kind. It was made specially by the chef of House Fleuret, customized to the royal children’s preferences.

He didn’t actually know if Stupeo liked sweets, but the cake was honestly so damn good, he was sure no self-respecting kid could refuse.

He’d brought three. Two of them were for himself. He figured Stupeo, with his tiny frame, could only finish one.

When Stupeo didn’t arrive, he scarfed down all of it.

The rush of sugar to his brain alleviated some of his disappointment.

Another thing that helped was going through Stupeo’s notebook. And reading about some of the things that the child turned over and over in his mind.

It was as if he could hear Stupeo nearby, reading the words aloud.

He was confident there was nothing private in there, because Stupeo showed it to him at nearly every opportunity, and he never saw any diary-like entries.

This would be the first:

 _Brought you some cake,_ Ravus wrote on the first blank page after Stupeo's notes. _Finished it all. Will try to bring again. - Nox_

When done, he carefully put the notebook back in its protective bag, placed it almost reverently in the hole in the ancient tree. Then he went home.

***

Ravus was the one who couldn’t make it to their meeting place, the next few days.

His minders were getting suspicious: was he really just out in the forest those many afternoons past, taking walks _all by himself?_

There were whisperings that Ravus was sneaking off with a local girl. He was at that age: the curious, hot-blooded, experimentative age. They had no doubt it was what other young men would do, in his position.

But they would need to find out who that girl was. For the sake of the royal house’s honor. If Ravus wasn’t going to tell, they needed to be circumspect.

His guardians had started to have him secretly followed. Of course Ravus noticed.

So he decided not to complicate a child’s life by exposing him to the intrigues of court. He consciously stayed away.

As soon as he felt it was safe, he made his way back to the tree in the meadow.

No Stupeo again that day, but at the end of a bunch of new notes was a message:

_Apologies for my absence. My uncle from Insomnia came for a visit. We had much to talk about._

_Also, thank you, but I don’t like sweets._

_\- S._

Ravus outright chuckled at this. A child who didn’t like sweets. And who signed his name with just his initial, like a middle-aged squire.

He really was so very weird.

***

After that, a few more notes were exchanged. It seemed as if they simply couldn’t find a way to meet anymore.

And the last note that Stupeo wrote said:

_Leaving soon for Insomnia with my uncle._

_Don’t know when I’ll be coming back._

_\- S._

Ravus reread the message over and over. It didn’t register in his mind right away.

It felt like the end of a happy time - a time that was much too short.

He began to realize he never had friends as a child, not really. In his position, it was difficult to trust anyone.

People talked behind his back, behind his mother’s back. To their faces, they expressed admiration and loyalty. They they turned around and plotted amongst themselves, spread secrets, rumors, lies and other hateful things.

Someday, Ravus decided, he would be strong enough to break through the hypocrisy and falsehood. He would gather other strong people to him, and together, they would rise above petty things, face _real_ threats. He would protect his family, his kingdom and himself.

He would have no time for friends.

Perhaps it was prescience, perhaps he had inherited some of his mother’s gifts - but he already knew in his heart that he and Stupeo would have to end their friendship someday. If not through physical distance, like this, then through some other way. Never mind his wishes and plans.

So, before their correspondence died a natural death, Ravus decided to kill it himself.

Instead of leaving a phone number, an address, his real name, or any other means of contact, he left something else.

He carefully placed a single white sylleblossom on the last blank page, before closing the book gently and pressing it shut.

 _Fond thoughts_ , the flower meant. _Always with you, though far away._

Despite his world-weariness, and the depth of his emotions, he was still too young to know the right words for goodbye.

A few days later, Ravus returned to the meadow one last time, just to see if Stupeo had left a response.

But the hole in the tree was empty. The notebook, and the leather bag that held it, were no longer there.

***

One of the things Ravus vividly remembered Stupeo doing was extending his little hand in a formal gesture of greeting.

One of the last things Ravus remembered him saying was _“You have gray eyes_.”

Ravus remembered laughing at this.

 _“Really, you just noticed?”_ He poked playfully at the child’s forehead. _“Apart from my height, it’s the first thing other people notice about me. Maybe you need glasses.”_

Stupeo rubbed at the spot that Ravus had poked.

 _“Guess I do,”_ he said thoughtfully.

He lay back down on the grass, beside his friend.

 _"Hey, Nox?"_ he brought up presently.

Ravus made a small sound of acknowledgement.

_"I think I know why fate isn't a bad thing. It's because without fate, we wouldn't have met. And I'm glad we met. Aren't you?"_

Ravus said nothing.

But he allowed a small, sad smile to touch his lips.

And in the silence that followed, the two friends watched the clouds pass overhead.

***

Ravus would have no way of knowing that at the other end of their star, a little boy would enter the Crown City of Insomnia, and the employ of the Lucian King.

A king whom Ravus would hate. From a bloodline he would despise to his dying day.

This little boy would be appointed as companion to a younger child: a child whom the new Oracle of House Fleuret would later identify as the King of Kings.

And slowly, surely, the little boy’s notebooks would be filled with things not related to Tenebrae.

“Stupeo” was a baby name - something the adults in his family had called the little boy, in delight. It was the perfect nickname for a clever child, perhaps the cleverest child his age in all of Eos.

His real name was Ignis Scientia. And this was what he would be called in his new home.

There would be so many things for Ignis to do in the Crown City. So much to learn. So much _newness_ to adjust to.

And on top of that, he would have someone smaller to take care of. Someone who would need all of his time.

***

At one point, the child under Ignis’ care - the Crown Prince of Lucis - would be injured in a freak daemon attack. He would be brought to Tenebrae for healing, for only the Oracle could heal his wounds.

Ignis’ paltry knowledge of Tenebraean medicinal herbs would be of no help.

Ignis would refuse to accompany the Lucian royal family to Tenebrae, the place of his birth. He would elect to stay in Insomnia. To learn more. To become smarter, stronger.

So he could protect the prince better. So he would never have to sit helpless by the prince’s bed, watching him struggle with pain, waiting for him to wake up, ever again.

He would get spectacles for his eyes, which were always so tired from reading. He could not risk not seeing anything clearly anymore, not when so much was at stake.

He would have one request, however. He would ask this of the prince himself:

There was a young man in Tenebrae he would like to find. His name was Nox. He would have gray eyes. He would be tall, and kind, and quick to laugh.

The prince would come back empty-handed. He had asked around, he would promise, for a boy named Nox.

But “Nox” was not an unusual name. There were many Noxes all over Eos. His own name, Noctis, was just a fancy variation.

There was indeed a “Nox” in the family name of their hosts - but the closest match to the young man Ignis was trying to find, was the first son of the royal family of Tenebrae, Ravus Nox Fleuret.

And it was impossible that he was the one whom Ignis meant. He was tall and had gray eyes, but he didn’t like to laugh. And he certainly wasn’t kind. He used polite words, but he seemed to regard everyone with suspicion and disdain.

Noctis would return home after the fall of Tenebrae. By then, the surviving royals of House Fleuret had been taken prisoner by the Empire. For years, there would be no easy way for anyone in Lucis to contact the members of House Fleuret directly.

But Ignis would agree: the young man he was looking for couldn’t have been the prince. It was impossible that a royal of Ravus Nox Fleuret’s stature would be allowed to wander in a forest all by himself, without an escort. That he would go out of his way to help rescue a cat from a tree. That he would want to waste so many hours chatting idly with a funny child he met by chance.

Perhaps Nox had forgotten all about him. Perhaps, even after the fall of Tenebrae, Nox was safe.

Ignis would content himself with looking at the pressed sylleblossom he was given - the one he would keep for as long as he could. When he was running out of blank pages, he would carefully transfer the flower to a new notebook.

_Fond thoughts. With you always._

The memories of the boy he met in the woods would fade, but the flower, and the sentiments behind it, would remain.

***

So many things would happen, after they parted ways.

Misfortune after misfortune would befall the members of House Fleuret. There would be rumblings that Tenebrae was in the Empire’s sights, as the Emperor sought to force the Oracle to give him the power of the gods.

Thanks to his mother’s close alliances with neighboring kingdoms, and the fierce independence of the people of Tenebrae, this would not happen. At least not right away.

At one point, during a visit of the Lucian royal family to their kingdom, the Empire would use brute force to subjugate Tenebrae.

It would be either a siege masked as an asassination attempt, or the other way around. Either way, with Lucian forces rushing to evacuate their king and his sole heir, Tenebrae would stand alone and helpless.

Ravus' mother, Queen Sylva Via Fleuret, would die protecting him.

Their kingdom would fall under Empire rule.

A few years after their mother’s death, Luna would ascend as Oracle - the youngest in recorded history. She would spend the best of her years rejecting the Emperor’s power games, refusing to aid him, staying true to her Calling.

Ravus would lose his arm.

It was fate, people would say. Inevitable.

But Ravus would not accept it. He would blame himself. He would blame the King of Lucis. He would refuse to stew in his own helplessness.

He would rise in rank in the Niflheim military, and accept the Empire’s “reward” of a magitek arm, to replace the one he’d lost.

He would not ask for comfort. His pride would not allow it.

But at one point, during the worst of his despair, he would thoughtlessly ask Tenebrae’s envoy to Lucis, if it was possible to find an old friend.

The envoy was instructed to come back with any news.

It was the last thing Ravus would ask for from the gods. After his prayers had been denied so many times.

But fate would deal Ravus Nox Fleuret one final heartbreak:

There was no one named Stupeo in Insomnia.

***

_Then the gods took_  
_The most fragile boy_  
_And tore him to pieces._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The notebook that Ignis writes his in-game recipehs on is said to have [a pressed sylleblossom](https://finalfantasy.fandom.com/wiki/Ignis_Scientia#Curiosities), similar to the Lovers' Notebook that Noctis and Luna write on.
> 
> Just thought it might be fun to imagine where it came from :D
> 
> [edit: 05 Sep 2020: headcanon for this setup can be found on [my tumblr](https://mooglecharm.tumblr.com/post/628387098262749184/ravus-and-ignis-as-kids-headcanon)]


End file.
